


Sugar, Sugar

by Philosoferre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Planning, Weddings, my boys deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: Steve whines. “Buuuccckkkyyyy. Why do you have to find a reason to like me again?” He pauses, waiting for any sort of reaction, but Bucky’s back to whatever he was doing. The only indication that he’s listening is the stillness of his hand. “We’re getting married, you’re supposed to already like me.”Bucky rubs a hand over his face. “Well, I don’t like you anymore. It’s all this wedding shit.”





	Sugar, Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> These sweet boys deserve to be happy. Title comes from Sugar, Sugar by The Archies. This one's for Mirela. <3

“Hey, Buck,” Steve calls, frowning down at the sticky note in his hands. Bucky has a terrible habit of leaving his to-do list notes around the Tower, and so Steve’s trying to be nice and arrange them in an organized fashion, in one place. “Buck?”

 

Bucky looks up from where he’s cross-referencing some things Steve doesn’t bother asking about, some hair slipping out of his bun in the process. “Huh?”

 

Steve holds the sticky note up and frowns. “What-? Why does it say  _ like Steve again _ ? With a question mark?”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Bucky says, offering no other explanation. 

 

He pushes his chair back, screeching against the hardwood, and flattens the sticky note against Steve’s palm. He takes the sharp pencil tucked behind his ear - Steve didn’t even notice it, how long has it been there? - and starts writing something down. The pencil tickles Steve’s hand through the paper and he squirms a little, but Bucky just grips his wrist with his other hand.

 

Bucky tucks the pencil behind his ear and smiles smugly. “There, I fixed it. Thanks for letting me know.”

 

Steve’s only more confused, and a little uneasy, when he reads what Bucky added. Now, it just says  _ find a reason to _ above the original text, cramped against the edge of the sticky note. Bucky definitely hasn’t been getting enough sleep.

 

Steve whines. “ _ Buuuccckkkyyyy _ . Why do you have to find a reason to like me again?” He pauses, waiting for any sort of reaction, but Bucky’s back to whatever he was doing. The only indication that he’s listening is the stillness of his hand. “We’re getting married, you’re supposed to already like me.”

 

Bucky rubs a hand over his face. “Well, I don’t like you anymore. It’s all this wedding shit.”

 

“I was worried you wanted to cancel or somethin’,” Steve says. Judging by the glare Bucky’s sending his way, that’s not what he wants to do. Steve lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “You know, I can help you. With everything. If it’s too much.”

 

Bucky chuckles. “Nah, it’s cool, I’ve got my Pinterest board. You just need to sit still and look pretty, doll.”

 

“Bite me,” Steve says, but he grabs the book he’s been meaning to read and takes the seat across from Bucky anyway, partly because the need to listen to orders is still hardwired in his brain, but mostly because he thinks it’s fun to throw crumpled balls of paper at Bucky.

 

Bucky just continues sorting through piles of papers, more pencils disappearing as he absentmindedly tucks them in his bun. “Choose a safeword and then we’ll talk.”

 

Steve smiles softly, feeling that familiar affection for Bucky, so ingrained in his heart that it must be coded in his genes, and ends up spending his time watching Bucky work, his tongue poking out of his mouth. The book he brought lies forgotten in his lap, and he only realizes when Bucky makes them lunch that he didn’t even get to throw any paper balls. 

 

-

  
  


Steve throws a plastic knife at Bucky, feeling only a little delighted when Bucky pays him enough attention to catch it at the last second, the plastic glinting in the fluorescent kitchen lights. 

 

“Hi,” Steve says, smiling hopefully.

 

Bucky grunts and tosses the knife back in his general direction. Even when he’s not actively paying attention, and with his back turned, he has amazing aim. The knife barely misses Steve’s shoulder, and that’s only because his instincts tell him to move away. Sue him if that turns him on. He hasn’t been paid much attention to all day, by his fiance no less; Natasha calls him a needy attention whore, but Steve doesn’t think a kiss every once in a while is too much to ask for. 

 

Time to resort to Natasha’s favourite technique: a seductive, yet shocking, statement.

 

“Choke me,” Steve blurts, trying to go for that seductive low pitch Bucky goes nuts for.

 

This time, Bucky growls, and Steve considers that a win. “If you keep doing this, I fucking will.”

 

“Aww, come on, Buck,” Steve whines. He leans down, wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and rests his head on his shoulder. Bucky smells like ink and graphite and salt, and something faintly metallic. Steve presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s neck, brushing away soft, stray hair with one hand and reaching out to find Bucky’s palm with the other. He has this subconscious habit of picking at his skin until it bleeds when he gets overwhelmed. “Don’t do that, babe.”

 

Bucky doesn’t pull his hand away like he normally does. He lets Steve continue moving his fingers in circles against it. “Not doin’ anythin’.”

 

“You gotta take care of yourself for me,” Steve mouths along Bucky’s jaw. He feels the tension slowly leave his shoulders. 

 

Bucky lets out a non-committal noise. “Hmm.” He tilts his head back and cards his metal fingers through Steve’s mussed hair, eyes closed and lips parted. 

 

“Babe, come to bed,” Steve mutters. His kisses are sloppy now, tongue and teeth clashing as they brush against Bucky’s skin. “Work tomorrow.”

 

“Mmm,” Bucky hums. Steve smiles against his face. There’s no way Bucky’s going to continue working now. “Nah, I gotta-”

 

“Anything I can do?” Steve asks. He keeps massaging Bucky’s hand, distracting him from the urge to grab his pencil and keep working, and presses a barely-there kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Anything I can help with?”

 

“So much,” Bucky whispers, and then he turns just enough so that their lips meet, soft and warm. 

 

Bucky’s got Steve’s mouth open and pliant in a matter of seconds, working his magic to such an extent that Steve forgets he’s here to distract Bucky from his work, not have sex on their table. Some distant part of his brain reminds him that Tony would throw a fit if he knew this is what they use their kitchen for, but that’s not important, because Bucky tastes like ink and stale coffee, and his hand is warm in Steve’s, and having this one moment where Steve gets Bucky all to himself, no work or anything, is the only thing that matters.

 

“Work,” Bucky mumbles, his teeth grazing against Steve’s lip. 

 

Steve shivers, electricity running down his spine and pooling low in his stomach. “Not now.”

 

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, letting Steve’s lip fall from between his own. “I hate you.”

 

Steve laughs and clumsily shifts so that he’s straddling Bucky, chest-to-chest and hips grinding against hips, so close they have no choice but to kiss. Bucky mumbles something into Steve’s mouth and reaches his hand up to push aside the papers he’s left all over the table. Some of them fall on the floor; he doesn’t bother picking them up.

 

“I gotta do stuff for the wedding,” Bucky pants. He uses one hand to pull Steve’s shirt up and keeps the other one firmly at his waist. 

 

Steve whines, grinding against him for added effect. The minute Bucky gets his shirt off, Steve puts a hand on either side of his face and kisses him. “Do me instead.”

 

Steve’s only answer is another kiss, and Bucky’s metal hand pushing down the hem of his sweatpants.

 

-

  
  


Steve smiles into his pillow when he wakes up because the little  _ ow _ he heard when he stretched most definitely means Bucky’s still in bed, and Steve accidentally slapped him. It’s a two-in-one.

 

“What time s’it?” Steve slurs. 

 

“Still morning,” Bucky says, which isn’t exactly the answer Steve was hoping for, but it’s good enough.

 

Steve lifts his head and blinks. It’s too bright. “M’kay.” 

 

His head hits the pillow with a soft thud and he curls one hand underneath it, stretching the other one out over Bucky’s chest and hoping to God he isn’t wearing anything, and then- his hand hits something that feels suspiciously like a notebook.

 

“What the everloving fuck are you doing?” Steve grunts, rolling over until his face is squished against Bucky’s metal shoulder. 

 

Bucky snorts. “Working.”

 

“ _ Whyyy _ ,” Steve whines.

 

Bucky taps the top of Steve’s head with his pen. Even though he can’t see, Steve can tell he’s grinning. “You told me yesterday I can work today.”

 

“Nnrgh,” Steve mumbles, because he’s not a morning person and he definitely isn’t awake enough to deal with Bucky’s personality right now. In times like these, he really starts to question why he’s going through with marrying this man. 

 

“Agreed,” Bucky says solemnly, and then he continues working on whatever he’s doing now. 

 

Steve lets out another half-assed grunt and pushes himself up, a hand digging into Bucky’s thigh. He’s very disappointed that Bucky’s wearing sweatpants.

 

“Nnnrghngh,” Steve says, picking at Bucky’s pants until he gets the message.

 

Either Bucky notices and doesn’t care, or he doesn’t notice and doesn’t care anyway. He’s hunched over, eyes narrowed at the notebook on his lap. Steve’s too tired to try and read everything that’s written in it.

 

“Wha’s ‘at?” He asks, half-pushing himself onto Bucky. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder, mostly to keep himself upright. 

 

Bucky laughs, low and deep and too goddamn husky for Steve to handle. “Stuff for our wedding, kid.”

 

Steve drops his head against Bucky. “Oof. Too early.”

 

Bucky just reaches his hand up to ruffle Steve’s hair. Steve doesn’t know how long they stay like that for, but eventually he realizes that Bucky’s not going to stop working unless he’s given an incentive. He’s not so sure he can beat last night’s, because that definitely did the job.

 

“Buck,” Steve says. He pokes Bucky’s chest. “Babe. Bucky.”

 

Bucky lifts his head a little, but still doesn’t look up. “Hmm?”

 

“Stop working. You’ve got time.” Steve pries the notebook away from a reluctant Bucky and reaches over to set it on the nightstand, which is crowded with pens and other notebooks and an entire empty carton of milk, which Steve’s just going to ignore. “Babe, the wedding’s not tomorrow.”

 

Bucky lets out a non-committal hum. 

 

“You’ve got  _ time _ , stop stressin’,” Steve says. 

 

Bucky doesn’t even bother responding this time, so Steve presses a wet kiss to the base of his neck and slowly starts making his way to his mouth. He shifts so that he’s straddling Bucky, legs spread wide to accommodate the man beneath him, and starts grinding down. Bucky hooks two metal fingers under Steve’s chin, lets out a breathy whine, and turns his head so they can kiss. 

 

Bucky’s all tongue this morning, teeth digging into Steve’s bottom lip and hands clawing at his back, leaving marks that’ll definitely form hand-shaped bruises. Steve’s not usually one for morning sex, but he can feel the tension in Bucky’s muscles, can practically hear the thoughts buzzing around in his head, and he just wants to make sure Bucky gets a well-deserved break every once in a while. 

 

“I’ll help you,” Steve gasps, words getting lost in the pure taste of Bucky on his tongue. “Seriously.”

 

“M’kay,” Bucky breathes. He pulls back until only their foreheads touch, and he’s smiling like the big goof he actually is.

 

Goddamnit, Steve loves this man with every fibre of his being, and right now, he’s pretty sure the universe loves Bucky too.

 

-

  
  


Steve really wants to help Bucky with the wedding, he really does, but he doesn’t understand half of what he’s being told. Natasha, who for some unknown reason has a collection of bridal magazines, is currently helping Steve and Bucky choose a colour palette for the reception. The ceremony, they agreed, was going to be all creamy off-whites and pastel blues, and even though they have the basic colours down - red, white and blue, obviously - Natasha wants them to narrow it down.

 

“Kitten,” Bucky whispers, nudging Steve with his shoulder. “Babe, we need your opinion.”

 

Natasha holds up some blue swatches in her hand. “Dark or light.”

 

To be completely honest, Steve couldn’t even tell there was a difference before Natasha said anything. He’s an artist by trade, sure, but back in the ‘40s he always sketched with pencils, and he was extremely colour blind, so his perception of colour isn’t that great. 

 

“I don’t fucking know,” Steve grumbles, pressing his hand into his face. “Whatever works.”

 

Bucky wraps an arm around his waist and tucks him in against his side. “That one,” he says, presumably pointing at one of the swatches.

 

Steve sighs and rests his head against Bucky’s chest. “What did you choose?”

 

“Captain America Blue,” Bucky says. He holds up the swatch for Steve to see, and lo and behold, it’s the exact colour of his old show uniform. 

 

Steve just grunts and turns his head so he can see everything else that’s laid out on the table. There’s a bunch of reds and a group of whites and a few scattered greys. He takes one of the brightest reds he can find and holds it up to the star on Bucky’s arm.

 

“This one,” Steve says, once he’s found the one that’s nearly identical. “Communist Red.”

 

Bucky scoffs. “It’s called Fiery Red, actually, if you care.”

 

Natasha takes the swatch from Steve and puts it in their  _ yes _ pile, wordlessly putting out some of the light greys they have. They’re supposed to complement the red, or whatever Natasha said. Steve grins into Bucky’s chest, and Bucky just pushes him closer. There’s no way he can actually be annoyed, because at least Steve’s trying his best to help. 

 

They pass another hour or two choosing their palette, and at this point Steve can tell the difference between eggshell white and cloud white, so he’s pretty proud of himself. Natasha offers to get everything sorted out, though Steve doesn’t really know how, and by the time their takeout arrives, at least one thing on Bucky’s to-do list has been done.

 

“Do you ever-” Steve pauses, his hand hovering above the noodle box he was opening. He shakes his head, blushing. “Never mind.” 

 

Bucky doesn’t skip a beat, reaching out to take the box from Steve. He only looks up once before he sets it down on the coffee table, but Steve can tell he’s feeling…  _ something _ . “What is it?”

 

“You won’t like it,” Steve mumbles. Bucky’s hand wraps tightly around his wrist as he reaches out to take back his box, and then he’s being pulled onto Bucky’s lap, one leg dangling off the sofa. 

 

Bucky tilts his head up and smirks. He keeps his hand against Steve’s jaw, and grabs a spring roll with the other, which he offers to Steve. “Have I ever not liked anything you’ve said?”

 

“Almost everything,” Steve says, grinning around a mouthful of spring roll. 

 

Bucky swipes his thumb under Steve’s lower lip, catching the bits of food he didn’t quite get. His face softens, the barest hints of a fond smile gracing his lips. Steve loves seeing him smile. It takes him a moment to realize Bucky’s waiting for him to continue.

 

“Do you-” Steve pauses, lets his heartbeat settle, and looks Bucky in the eye. He feels Bucky’s thumb rubbing soothing circles onto his hip. “Do you ever think? About… us getting married?”

 

“Well, that’s kind of  _ all _ I’ve been thinking of lately. Lots to do,” Bucky says.

 

Steve huffs out a laugh. “No, I mean--do you ever doubt if it’s good for us? If we’re, y’know, doing the right thing? Rushing it?” He keeps holding Bucky’s gaze, too afraid to look away and see something he isn’t ready to face. 

 

But Bucky, who’s never been taken aback by anything Steve’s ever said, just keeps rubbing those gentle circles, and then he leans forward and gives Steve the softest of kisses, the words he doesn’t need to say spilling onto Steve’s lips.

 

“Do you?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve bites his lip. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

 

Bucky kisses him again, and he leaves his metal hand cupping Steve’s cheek. “Oh, sweet doll. I get doubts, you know. I always thought that was how it’s supposed to be, I’m just supposed to doubt everything--and then, I haven’t doubted this yet. You see?” 

 

Bucky pauses. Steve takes the cue to nod. “Babe, there’s no doubt this is a good thing for us. We’ve waited so long for this, you’ve fought for me when I wasn't strong  _ so many times _ , and I’m just grateful that I get to have you like no one else. Precious thing,” Bucky knocks their foreheads together, smiling, “this is what it feels like to have the universe on your side after a lifetime without it.”

 

“Oh,” Steve breathes, and then he breaks into a smile and kisses Bucky wherever he can reach, just because he can. Knowing he gets to kiss Bucky whenever he wants to is the best thing in the world. Maybe second place to their upcoming marriage.

 

“Does that answer your question?” Bucky asks.

 

Steve nods. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing. “Yeah.”

 

“Good,” Bucky says. He leans back, pulling Steve with him until Steve’s head is resting on his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, smooths his hair down, and turns the tv on.

 

They spend the rest of the evening watching mindless reruns of sitcoms, and it’s absolutely perfect. 

 

-

  
  


Bucky’s next priority, according to the sticky note on Steve’s forehead, is to get floral arrangements settled. Steve remembers hearing something about going down to the flower shop today, but he wasn't paying much attention. He squints at the sticky note and lets out a groan. 

 

“You awake?” 

 

Steve nearly jumps, hands reaching out to grab at the bedsheets. Bucky’s standing in the bathroom doorway, his toothbrush in his hand, and foamy toothpaste dripping down his chin. He smiles and turns to spit it in the sink, and then there’s the sound of running water. 

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve says. 

 

Bucky laughs. He’s still wearing his dumb Captain America pajama set, so at least Steve knows he hasn’t missed the flower thing. He’s hoping he’s better with flowers than he is with colour schemes.

 

Bucky climbs onto the bed to nuzzle at Steve’s neck. “Ready to do more wedding stuff?”

 

“Mm,” Steve murmurs. He wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him down, exchanging lazy kisses. “Only if I get to marry you at the end.”

 

Bucky just laughs again and presses him further into the mattress, and they get to the florist ten minutes later than they were supposed to.

 

-

  
  


As expected, Steve isn’t any better with flowers. He knows that roses are supposed to be romantic (although his and Bucky’s idea of romance isn’t exactly in line with that) or some shit, and he knows which flowers are basically off-limits. The sunflowers, for example, which are just too yellow and would definitely clash with the colour scheme. 

 

“I like the marigolds,” Bucky says. The florist helping them lets out a quiet giggle, and Bucky only smiles. 

 

Steve feels like there’s something he doesn’t know. An inside joke, or something. “...Why?”

 

“Death and all that,” Bucky says. He brushes his fingers over the petals of an orchid. “That’s pretty much the only constant in our lives.”

 

“Ha ha,” Steve says, in the most monotone voice he can manage. Bucky’s not as funny as he thinks he is, and definitely not as charming as the florist thinks he is. 

 

If Steve had to choose one word to describe him, he’d probably choose  _ asshole _ , without missing a beat.

 

-

  
  


Tux shopping with Tony is about as great as it sounds. Steve’s really starting to hate Bucky for choosing Natasha as his shopping buddy before Steve was even fully awake. Instead of having a valid opinion from someone who doesn’t attack his fashion choices, Steve has to spend the afternoon with Tony and Clint, who’s doing absolutely nothing to help. 

 

Maybe it’d be better if Sam was here, but he’s busy fixing some dumb plumbing problem. Honestly, that’s way less important. Steve’s wedding is on the line. 

 

“You know, if you weren’t getting married, I’d totally raw you in the dressing room,” Tony says, waving his hand around for emphasis.

 

Steve frowns at his reflection in the three-panel mirror. He likes this tux because it’s simple and traditional and black, but he hates it for the exact reason Tony wants to raw him in it - it’s way too tight. If he wore this to their wedding, Bucky would probably just fuck him right then and there. And wouldn’t the press have a field day.

 

“I liked the last one more,” Clint says, side-eyeing Tony. He’s still got half of his herbal refresher from when they went to Starbucks an hour ago. 

 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Clint, that one was even worse--”

 

“ _ Even worse _ ? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tony interrupts.

 

Steve ignores him, as usual. “--it has stripes, man. I’m not wearing that to my wedding.”

 

Clint looks a little wounded, but then he points at the tux half-hidden behind Steve’s dressing room’s door. “Try that one.”

 

Steve closes the door to Tony’s half-hearted “At least let me raw you!” and lets out a very long and very tired sigh when he sees the floral tux one of his friends managed to sneak in. When Clint asks what he thinks of it, Steve tries his best to hide his smile and pretend he doesn’t like it. 

 

-

  
  


“What do you think of floral?” Steve asks. 

 

He pushes off Bucky and flops down on the sweat-sticky bed, reaching one hand out to trail down Bucky’s chest.  

 

Bucky hums and rolls over until he’s straddling Steve. He presses sloppy kisses along his neck and down his jaw, his metal hand holding Steve’s wrist down. Neither of them says anything; the silence only disturbed by their open-mouthed kisses and the sound of skin on skin.

 

“Buck,” Steve pants. 

 

Bucky hums against his mouth but shows no signs of actually responding. 

 

“Buck,” Steve tries again. It’s getting harder to talk, but he just really needs to know what Bucky thinks of a floral tux. It’s not the right time, he knows, but it’s bothering him, and he’d much rather get an answer now than wait and let the question torment him.

 

Bucky sits up and raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”

 

“Floral,” Steve says. He had a whole sentence in mind, but only managed to say one word. Typical. “Y’know, flowers and shit.”

 

Steve can tell Bucky’s desperate to finish this conversation and get on with the sex, but this is really important to him. Not that the sex isn’t, it’s just--he doesn’t want to mess up his one major responsibility for the wedding. A bad tux can ruin the whole mood. 

 

“What about it?” Bucky asks. 

 

Steve bites his lip to hold back a gasp. Bucky’s back to his incessant grinding, and the friction between them is almost good enough to distract Steve. Almost. 

 

“What d’ya think of a floral tux?” Steve breathes. He tries to pull Bucky down to kiss him, but Bucky just sits up and pushes his hand away.

 

“Hold up,” Bucky says, all too seriously. Steve knows he’s just ruined the mood. Bucky’s pupils are back to normal, and he’s stopped grinding, and he’s got that look on his face he gets whenever something doesn’t make sense. “I’m about to fuck you, and you want my opinion on a goddamn tux?”

 

Steve can either say yes or no, but both options aren’t looking good. He smiles. “Yes?”

 

-

 

The room smells like cookies when Steve wakes up. It takes away the sadness of realizing he’s not asleep anymore, and it’s definitely the kind of thing Steve expects to wake up to every day after they’re married. He sits up, eyes still half-closed, and takes a deep breath. Warm, fresh chocolate chip cookies, and a hint of vanilla.

 

“Cookies,” Steve mutters, because he’s not awake enough to say anything more.

 

There’s a muffled laugh from somewhere in his vicinity. Steve opens his eyes and turns to face Bucky, who’s really trying his hardest not to laugh. He has a scented candle in his hands, and it’s labelled  _ Warm Cookies _ . 

 

Steve scowls. Bucky grins like the demon he is.

 

“I fucking hate you,” Steve groans. He flops back down. “I’m calling the fucking wedding off.”

 

The real cookies Bucky bakes for him later are an almost-good-enough apology. Almost. Steve won’t be bought so easily.

 

-

 

“Before you start thinking of a guest list,” Steve says, unprompted, taking the seat across from Bucky at the table, “I just want to suggest something.”

 

Bucky just hums. He’s busy highlighting things on a piece of graph paper. Sometimes, Steve gets the feeling he likes all this fancy stationary and making everything look pretty more than he likes the actual getting married thing.

 

“How about not inviting anyone,” Steve suggests. 

 

Bucky snaps his head up to look at him, fluffy hair falling into his eyes. His metal hand curls around the graph paper defensively. Steve’s pretty sure he broke his highlighter. “Why the fuck would you even think that’s a good idea? You dumbass.” He leans back in his seat and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You complete fool. You can’t have a wedding without guests.”

 

Steve lets out a non-committal noise that could pass as a whale call. “I don’t feel like dealing with people.”

 

Bucky waves his hands around. “Well, too fucking bad, princess.” 

 

And then he goes back to highlighting whatever’s on that paper, and the next time Steve goes to their bedroom, he finds a neatly organized list on his pillow, and a note beside it that reads:  _ cross out anyone you don’t wanna invite.  _ Just because he’s a piece of shit, and he runs on spite, Steve writes Bucky’s name just to cross it out, and only feels a little smug when he hears Bucky’s half-snort-half-laugh later.

 

-

 

“Are we doing bachelor parties?” Steve asks. He rolls over, shoves one hand under his pillow, and pokes Bucky’s side. 

 

Bucky groans and reaches his arm out to swat at Steve. “Go the fuck to sleep, Rogers.”

 

“ _ Noooo _ ,” Steve drawls. He keeps rolling over until he’s half lying on top of Bucky. Metal plates vibrate against his chest. It’s a free massage, so Steve stays put. “Not as fun. I just wanna know.”

 

“Nrrgh,” Bucky says.

 

Steve keeps poking Bucky until a metal hand flies out to grab his wrist, and then Bucky’s staring at him with sleepy eyes. 

 

“That was rude,” Steve says.

 

Bucky shoves his face away with a half-hearted groan, but he doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. Steve can tell he’s deep in thought. Then Bucky rolls over again and says, a little hesitantly, “Why… why are you thinking about this now?”

 

Steve’s pretty sure there isn’t a good or right answer to that question, so he settles for a shrug and a half-smile. To be honest, there isn’t a reason he’s thinking about bachelor parties now. 

 

“Just kinda--” Steve waves his hand around. “It came to mind?”

 

Bucky lets out a huff. “Oh. Do you wanna do bachelor parties?”

 

“Hmm,” Steve says. That’s a good question. He rolls over and tucks his hand under his head, and stares up at the nondescript ceiling. “I think it’d be nice.”

 

Even through the darkness, Steve can tell Bucky’s grinning. He’s probably had his dream bachelor party planned since 1926, though it’d have to be updated. Steve wonders what he’d want to do. Maybe go to a club? Tony’s been begging one of the Avengers to get married so he has an excuse to go to that expensive-as-all-fuck strip club and catch up with Ana, some girl he used to go to school with. 

 

Steve’s never really understood that, now that he thinks about it. He doesn’t remember any of his former classmates becoming strippers. Then again, they’re all dead now, so. It’d be unfair of him to judge.

 

Steve turns to face Bucky. “What do you do during bachelor parties, anyway?”

 

Bucky laughs. “I have no fucking idea.”

 

The next morning, they start planning their respective bachelor parties - together, obviously, sharing the same laptop, giving feedback on each other’s plans. It’s not cheating the system, as much as Bucky argues it is. Steve doesn’t have to listen to him until they’re married, anyway. 

 

-

 

“Ooh,” Bucky says, clicking the laptop’s mouse pad aggressively. “What about a nice three-week all-inclusive trip to Greece? Think about it. Islands. Food. No Avengers. Oh my god, Steve - fuck, I’m sold. What about the Saturday after the wedding? I’ll check--”

 

Steve puts his book down, and he loses years of life as the page accidentally folds. Well, that’s great. The twenty-first century hasn’t found a way to flatten folded book pages, for some reason. Bunch of dumbasses running the publishing industry.

 

“No, wait,” Steve says. Bucky’s such an impulse shopper sometimes, it’s annoying. He sees a nice floral shirt and all of a sudden, Steve’s short some rent money. Fucking Barnes. “How much does it cost?”

 

Bucky looks like he’s contemplating murder. That’s never a good sign. “Uh, ten thousand?”

 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “We can’t afford that, Buck. The government doesn’t pay us shit.”

 

The look of pure disappointment on Bucky’s face is heartbreaking enough to make Steve turn to his last resort, which is, unfortunately, asking Tony for money. Tony spends a good half hour teasing Steve about it, but his only condition when he hands over the money is that he gets to make a speech at the wedding, and that isn’t the worst thing Steve’s ever had to live through, so he accepts. Bucky’s smile makes it totally worth it.

 

-

 

Bucky’s spent the entire afternoon writing his vows - what exactly he’s writing, Steve has no idea - but Steve finished writing his three hours ago, and he’s really bored, and the only reasonable option he has is to annoy Bucky until he pays attention to him. Technically, he didn’t really write his vows. It’s just one cue card, with like ten words written on it. There’s only one thing Steve wants to say, and he just wrote it down so he wouldn’t forget it at the wedding and say something incoherent instead.

 

(It’s the same thing he’s been saying for seventy years, but at his wedding, he knows it’ll feel like it’s the first time he’s ever said it.)

 

Steve’s currently on attempt number five of annoying Bucky, and it’s going as well as the previous four attempts. Usually, all Steve has to do is breathe too loudly, but today, for some reason, Bucky’s really focused on doing actual wedding stuff, and he’s just ignoring everything Steve throws his way.

 

And he has tried to get his attention. Several times. Attempt number one involved badly made paper planes (they never flew across the table). Attempt number two, which Steve is never talking about again, involved singing off-key to some of Bucky’s favourite songs (Bucky says he’s a bad singer, and Steve unabashedly owns it). Attempt number three was just a one-sided game of tag, and if Steve’s being honest, it was mostly an excuse for him to boop Bucky without retaliation. Attempt number four was… a mess. And attempt number five shouldn’t even count. 

 

“Do you really have that much to write?” Steve asks, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table.

 

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Steve would look over to see what exactly he’s writing, but even though Bucky’s not paying attention to him, he’s still scared of having a pen thrown at him with startling accuracy. Make no mistake: Steve is well aware of Bucky’s ability to turn anything into a weapon. 

 

Steve lets out a long sigh. “Well,” he says, “I guess I’ll just… go shower then. Got nothing better to do.”

 

Again, Bucky doesn’t reply. Steve was kind of hoping Bucky would get the hint. He lingers by the table for a few seconds, waiting to see if Bucky would put the pen down and join him, but he doesn’t show any sign of even having heard what Steve said, so Steve just leaves without him. He’s only a little disappointed.

 

The water runs warm over Steve’s body, the glass doors of the shower are so fogged up he can barely see outside, and the air is thick with the scent of Bucky’s coconut shampoo, which Steve will never, ever admit to using. 

 

(He’s pretty sure Bucky knows he uses it anyway, but that doesn’t mean he has to admit to it.)

 

When Steve notices the sticky note on the shower wall, he almost doesn’t bother looking at it, but he’s kind of intrigued to know which reminder Bucky left in here. He leans forward to read it, careful not to get it wet. It reads:  _ remember to tell Steve you love him. _

 

Steve smiles, and when he gets out of the shower, he makes sure to take the sticky note with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, tbh. Support your fic writers - comments and kudos are always appreciated, darlings! 
> 
> Come say hi to me on [ tumblr ](http://capgwen.tumblr.com)!


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